


The Tin Star

by PvtBear



Category: Tombstone Territory
Genre: Gen, Western
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-20 20:18:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18532405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PvtBear/pseuds/PvtBear
Summary: Clay Hollister gets more then he bargained for when he tracks down the Evans gang. After being shot and left for dead, Hollister forms an unsteady alliance with a young stranger. The questions remains, is this stranger friend or foe?





	The Tin Star

A Tin Star

  It was July 8th 1881, an unusually hotter day then normal as the young sheriff of Tombstone rode through the mountains. Clay Hollister had been trailing the Evans gang for three days. They had broken into the bank under the cover of darkness and stole five thousand dollars. While fleeing, an innocent citizen, a twelve year old boy sneaking home from staying out late with friends, was trampled under the legs of the desperate outlaws’ horses.  
He sat upon his sorrel quarter horse wiping the sweat from his brow. His tongue licked the salt from his lips and surrounding areas of his mouth; while his eyes scanned the base of the mountains, the tracks had ended where he stood. The sheriff bent over the saddle horn, the lack of sleep finally catching up to his weary body. With no visible path around, Clay Hollister turned his animal around to find a clue he had missed earlier, unaware of the danger which shadowed him from above.  
Hidden among the shadows, against the rocks, gang leader Cole Evans lay in wait watching his prey. Beside him his cousin, Jesse Bailer, sat against a boulder throwing stones by his feet.

“Boy’s getting restless, Cole,” Jesse stated as he pushed himself up and beside his cousin. He watched the sheriff below start back down the trail. Cole slowly pulled the hammer back of his Winchester repeater; in his sights sheriff Clay Hollister.

“Better not miss!” Chuckled Jesse.

 

“Watch this!” Smiled Cole, as he pulled the trigger.  
The shot echoed against the mountain walls, mixed with hollering and hooting from the outlaws. They watched the motionless body of the sheriff lie on the mountain floor.

“Get the boys, we can ride in peace now!” Cole slapped Jesse on the back and followed him up the hidden path. They rode off leaving the body for the buzzards.

    Clay Hollister had begun his trek back when he felt the burning pain pierce his back. He froze briefly before falling face down toward the ground. He hit the dirt without bracing, causing all remaining air to leave his body. Pain wreaked havoc upon his body causing him slight panic in the struggle to stay awake. The mixture of exhaustion and pain finally caused the man to fade in to darkness.  
    Smell, the first sense to return to the sheriff. It was overwhelming at first, making him nauseous. Slowly, the black eyelashes opened revealing his pain stricken blue eyes. Hollister was laying shirtless, face down with bandages wrapped around his upper torso. His left eye surveyed as much as it could. The fire light bounced off the cave walls illuminating his world. He smelled stew of some sorts cooking and could hear the water boiling from behind. Footsteps soon sounded against the stone floor. He had failed to previously notice the warm, large mass beside his leg, which had now moved away. Hollister lay still attempting to appear unconscious. The warmth of the fire grew causing the sheriff to shiver slightly from the un-expectancy of it.  
  
“If I were you, I’d go back to sleep.” The low voice pierced the silence of the cave. Clay Hollister’s eye opened again; a silhouette of a man was before him. The sheriff opened his mouth to speak, but no words were produced.  
  
“I have to cut this bullet out. I need you to lay as still as you can for me, lawman.” Hollister clenched his teeth together as he felt the bandages be removed.  
“Sorry.” Was the last word he heard. His body tensed, his forehead dug into the ground beneath him as the heated blade dug into the injured flesh. It didn’t take long for the pain to overwhelm him once again.  
  
     This time it was the sunlight which drew Clay Hollister from his sleep. He breathed as deep as he could before pain shot through his body. He opened his left eye again to find a muddy paw, roughly five feet, from his face. His eyes narrowed, he blew air on the paw. A black and brown head popped up from the other end of the leg. The brown, tired eyes looked at the man before falling back to the floor. Hollister pushed his hand underneath him in an attempt to stand upright. He stopped this action when a low growl began to resonate from the animal. Hollister looked at the dog who stared back at him. He slowly put his arms back in the prone position which caused the dog’s growl to cease. The brown/black dog pushed himself up, walked out of view of the sheriff, and laid down on his legs.

  
“Great! Now I really can’t go anywhere,” Thought Clay.

  
    An unknown amount of time had passed when Hollister felt the hard slap of a tail against his inner thigh. The thumping increased as Hollister expected it would, knowing someone was approaching. The large dog gracefully pushed off his “prisoner” allowing the sheriff to move his stiff legs. Every shift of a limb caused waves of nausea and pain throughout the body. He grimaced through the pain as much as he could withstand. Unknowingly, to the sheriff, the stranger had brought a cold, metal cup of water to him. He felt a leather gloved hand lift his head and slide the metal cup to his lips. The fresh, cold liquid quenched the nagging feeling of thirst. He coughed slightly as his head was lowered back onto his dirt pillow.

  
“Thank you,”He choked out.

A large, wet, black nose stuck itself in Hollister’s ear canal. He chuckled and attempted to push the animal away. The dog began, once again, to growl until the arm was motionless again. This caused the dog to lick the man as if to praise him “listening to directions.”

  
“Hub, leave him be!” The long ears hovered briefly over the injured man’s face before departing.

  
“Hub, that’s an interesting name for a dog!” Hollister remarked.  
  
“It’s short for Hubertus, the patron saint of hunters.” The low voice replied. Hollister noted that the stranger had a religious background.  
  
“How long have I been out?” The sheriff questioned.  
  
“Roughly two days. Can’t get you to the doctor until you heal up more and can’t bring a doctor to you.” Hollister had been laid up for two days; the anxiety of what his town must be thinking built up inside. His thoughts were interrupted suddenly by the stranger.  
  
“You must have made someone angry enough to back shoot you.”  
  
“Yeah must have.” He replied, attempting not to give any or too much information to a stranger.  
  
“So who were you trailing?”  
   Hollister bit his lip, unsure of how to answer.  
  
“Look lawman, your kind don’t normally come up here unless they are trailing someone.” The low voice stated softer this time.  
  
“Evans gang. Robbed our bank, killed a child. Put my money on one of them shooting me.” There was not a reply for some time.  
  
“I need to grab some more wood. Hub, watch him!” The dog growled before walking to the sheriff’s left side and sitting down, paws crossed, and staring at the man.  
  
“Good boy Hub!” Whispered Hollister before closing his eyes.

July 10th, 1881  
  Clay Hollister had now been gone five days with no word. The people of Tombstone had organized possess only to find the sheriff’s horse and blood stained on the horn; no sign of the sheriff. Telegraphs matching Hollister’s description were sent out to nearby towns and marshals. Assistance needed was wired to Fort Huachuca.

  
July 12th, 1881  
    Sheriff Clay Hollister had been declared missing. Deputy Charlie had been appointed acting sheriff of Tombstone, hopefully for a temporary time. A patrol of six men were sent from the fort to investigate the disappearance of Clay Hollister.  
  
     His strength was slowly returning. Every day, like clockwork, the stranger left around morning leaving his dog, Hub, to watch over the sheriff; he left a canteen of water and beef jerky for the man. By midafternoon, he would return and ask how everything was before becoming silent. The stranger had yet to show his face or reveal any information of how he stumbled across Clay Hollister. Keeping to his schedule, the stranger returned except this time instead of beginning supper, he began to quickly pack.  
Hollister had awoken to the sound of pots clanking together. Tired of laying on stomach, he pushed himself up on his forearms. He stayed in this position to allow the pain to subside and allow his sore muscles to “awake”. The sheriff gritted his teeth, the pain almost becoming unbearable. Suddenly, his left arm was being lifted gently. He looked over to see the dog had crawled under his arm and was attempting to assist the injured man. Hollister was surprised how strong the dog was. He slowly stood as the injured man placed most of his weight on his shoulders while attempting to stand. Dizziness overwhelmed Clay Hollister as he leaned against the cave wall. He opened his blue eyes to survey his makeshift home.  
      Behind him, in a neat pile, lay his black hat and black, leather gun belt, though his holsters were empty. A few paces away, the medium sized rocks, neatly placed in a circle, contained the now smoldering fire. Three logs holding a long metal chain linked hook were braced at the top, hung over the fire. To the far side of the cave, a rolled up black/grey bed roll, two saddlebags with worn leather, and a Winchester rifle. The sheriff looked down in front of him to find Hub; ears raised, head tilted sideways, wagging his tail.  
  
“Good boy Hub! Good boy!” The dog stood, wagged his tail faster, and assumed the position to be petted.  
  
       A shadow appeared from the mouth of the cave. Hollister watched it stare at him, hands hovering over the holster; the shadow then moved away. He could see out of the corner of his eye as the stranger picked up the gear on the opposite side of the cave. Hollister once again watched the shadow shift side to side before departing. Sweat beads had formed on his chest, the energy he was using was quickly being drained. He attempted to look at the wrapped hole on his back, but to no avail. Again the shadow appeared, but this time it walked toward him. The stranger bent down and began rolling up the bed roll Hollister had been utilizing. Without speaking, the stranger left the cave only to return a short time later with a dark blue shirt, streaked with red lines in his hands. The stranger stood nose to nose with the sheriff. It was the first time, even in the dim light, the injured man could view his rescuer.  
       A little surprised, Hollister was expecting an old man, possibly a miner. Yet, before him stood a young, brown, short haired man. Small stubbles mixed with a shadow embraced the sides of his face. His blue piercing eyes scanned the makeshift bandage, ensuring it could endure the impeding journey. He wore a blood red bandana loosely around this neck. A straight, coal black shirt coated in dust and wood chips and a brown leather vest shrouded his torso. Then came the brown worn out leather holster. He was packing the 1873 colt single action revolver with what looked like animal bone hand grips. He wore brown pants with black cowhide chaps tucked into black boots. Overall, the man looked like a regular civilian that one would see on the streets of Tombstone. Yet, Hollister felt and uneasiness about the young man. He eyed the man’s black hat and noted at least three bullet holes, two near the top and one that clipped the brim.  
  
   “You need to get this shirt on. We can’t have you falling out due to the heat.” As they slowly began the painful process of placing the shirt on, Hollister noticed an almost unnoticeable patch on the right sleeve; a cover up from where a bullet passed through the shirt. It took some doing and a whole bunch of teeth grinding, but the sheriff managed to get the shirt on.  
  
   “Go grab your gear Hub!” The stranger motioned to the dog, who ran deeper into the cave before returning with a small stick. The stranger grabbed the sheriff’s hat and gun belt thrusting them toward him. With everything on, the young man put the sheriff’s right arm over his shoulders. Slowly they walked together toward the mouth of the cave with Hub leading the way. The dog turned sharply and ran up a hidden stone path covered by some brush.  
  
  “I need you to hold on to me tight. This is a steep path and a more painful drop if you slip.” His voice was stern with no emotion, as the two began the journey up the narrow path.  
  
   “Where we headed?” Hollister asked as he focused on every step.  
  
    “You need a doctor.” Replied the stranger. The two walked the rest of the way in silence. Finally, after what felt like a five mile hike, they reached a landing where a horse and a mule stood packed with gear. Hollister sat on a rock while the stranger went to double check everything.  
    The scene was beautiful. The bright afternoon sun shone down across the valley and canyon. Heat waves danced off the tops of the peaks while the wind blew a slight whistling tune.  
  
     “We need to make the town before nightfall and I can’t have you slowing us down. Get on this travois.” The stranger half yelled toward Hollister’s direction against the increasing wind. Hollister turned back toward the stranger.  
  
“There is no town around here. Tombstone is the closest and is only a three day ride.” He was cut off before finishing.  
  
“The town is a four hour ride. You won’t make the ride to Tombstone.”  
  
“Look! I’m the sheriff of Tombstone, Clay Hollister. I need to get word back to them for a…” The gloved hands roughly held Hollister by his collar on the edge of the landing. His blue eyes were wild and wide, his nostrils flared and his lips were smashed together.  
  
“Listen and listen good. Your name is Clyde Sterling, horse thief. You were shot by a rancher after stealing a heard. You started out in Montana and worked your way down here. You’ve never been to Tombstone and you’re not a sheriff. Understand?”  
  
The Sheriff’s eyes looked down over the edge of the landing. His hands were already grabbing the hands holding him after instincts took over. He squeezed tighter, half smiled, and nodded his acknowledgement. He was then roughly pulled back from the edge and toward the travois.  
  
“Is there a name for you?” Hollister sarcastically asked while straightening his collar.  
  
“Just call me Merrick.” Replied the young man quietly.  
  
“Alright, lead the way to your unknown town then Merrick!” Hollister stated while he began to lie down. Merrick’s eyes narrowed, he looked away briefly before grabbing an extra bandana from his saddlebags and throwing it to Hollister. With Hub leading the way with his stick still in his mouth, the trio began the journey toward the doctor.

    The ride was slow and dusty. Deep down Hollister was grateful for the bandana. The group traveled narrow paths along the mountain side. It was a quiet ride besides the hoof noses against the stone and dirt. After two hours Merrick halted the trip to rest the animals. He handed Hollister a canteen and a biscuit before walking to sit alone on the edge of the path, letting his legs dangle off the edge.  
  
   “Thanks for the bandanna.” Hollister stated to Merrick who made no acknowledgement. He slightly looked over his shoulder, but refused to answer. The men finished their food in silence.

  
     “We should continue again. Make sure to hold tight, the path gets a little steep.” The mule started forward without prompting after Merrick swung into the saddle of his horse. Hollister was surprised at how steep the path actually was and was grateful for the previous warning. The sheriff looked up briefly to notice that the path brought them into a box canyon.  
  
    The sun had just begun to set as the group made it into town. Hollister looked around to see an active place. Men walked the streets carrying goods, music resonated from the saloon, a slightly red colored wooden building in the middle of town. Toward the end of town stood a white building marked with black words from a sign, hanging in front a white fence: “Dr. Tobias Woods, M.D and undertaker.”

  
    “Hub.” Merrick nodded to his dog while he swung off the horse and walked inside. The sight of the travois did attract attention,but no one approached till Merrick had gone inside. A man carrying a whiskey bottle stumbled toward dog and man. Hub dropped his stick and stood between the drunkard and Hollister, bearing his teeth and growling. The short hairs on his back began to rise and his tail straightened out. A vicious bark startled both men as the dog took a slow step forward. The drunk man drew his pistol and pointed it at the animal.

  
“I’d put that gun down slowly Jack.” Merrick had exited the white building with the doctor and now stood parallel to his dog.

  
“I only wanted to see who ya brought in!” The drunk man spat back. “This mongrel dog of yours got in the way.” He cocked the hammer back, Hub remained as was.

  
“You move that finger of yours and I will personally kill you, your brother, and anyone associated with you.” Hollister watched the drunk man weight his options. Slowly he holstered the weapon before taking another swig of whiskey. Merrick stepped forward and grabbed the man’s collar.

  
“Threaten my dog again or even look at him wrong, I’ll kill you!” With his right fist, he swung and caught the man in his gut causing him to fall over.

  
“Oh and Jack, tell your brother Cole I am looking for him!” It was then Hollister realized he was looking at the younger Evans brother. Merrick and the doctor assisted the sheriff into the house with Hub close on their heels.

  
   The cotton sheets felt good compared to the cave floor. Hollister relaxed almost instantly when placed down.

  
“Clay Hollister! Mighty glad to see you again!” The old, familiar voice caused the sheriff to turn around.

“Tobias Woods! Doc! It’s been a few years!” Merrick walked from the room to kneel down and pet his dog. He eyed the confrontation between the two men.  
  
“If anyone comes in and asks, he is Clyde Sterling. Got it Doc?” The old man nodded. “I’m leaving Hub as protection. Got business at the Dancing Queen.” Merrick left without waiting for an answer. Tobias Woods watched the young man walk toward the saloon.  
  
“Oh Clay, how did you manage this situation?”  
  
“Getting shot is part of the jobs Woods!”  
  
“Not that.” Woods began peeling the bandages from the wound. “Don’t you know who that is?”  
  
“Should I?” Hollister questioned back.  
  
“That there is Merrick Young, also known as the Tin Star. He’s notorious for killing lawmen and stealing their badges, God knows what else he does!”

 

     Merrick walked into the Dancing Queen saloon. It was eight o’clock on Wednesday night, the bar was slightly packed. Four men stood at the bar while a few others played poker. They all glanced up when he walked through the swinging wooden doors. His blue eyes scanned the room searching for a specific target. Finally, his eyes rested upon an old man sitting in a corner sipping coffee.  
  
“Nice to see you again Star.” The bartender excitedly exclaimed. Merrick half smiled back and took his hat off.  
  
“Nice to be back Joe. Keeping the town clean?” The group of men chuckled. Merrick strode over to the old man’s table and threw a coin down. He stood over the table smiling at the old man who in turn smiled back.  
  
“What’s the job?” His gruff voice asked the young man while examining the coin.  
  
“Ride to the nearest town and acquire a newspaper.” The old man pursed his lips together while he contemplated the idea.  
  
“I’ll give you fifty cents for the whole job Clusky. Need you to get there and back quick as you can!”  
  
Old man, Clusky, smiled, put his cup down on the table and pushed his chair back.  
  
“Gosh darn Star, you know I’d do anything for ya!”  
  
“Thanks Clusky.” He yelled as the old man shuffled out. His smile faded as a voice arose from the back of the bar.  
  
“Hey Star! Who was that man you brought in?” Merrick turned to see the vicious face of Jack Evans.  
  
“What’s it to you?” He snarled back.  
  
“Just curious. We all should know who comes and goes in this town.” He let out a loud howling laugh.  
  
   Merrick stood with his thumbs hooked into his belt. “I thought I told you to tell your brother I was looking for him.”  
  
“Yeah, he will come in due time. I don’t just do everything on your command like every other dog here.” The drunk man half fell over from laughing. The bar slowly began to clear as men felt the atmosphere shift.  
  
“Jack Evans, go and meet your brother.” Merrick turned to Joe the bartender. “ Sober him up and send him on his way. He’s not worth a bullet tonight.” He had begun walking toward the exit when Jack spoke yet again.  
  
“Hey ya coward! Where ya…” A fist connected with his face causing the drunk man to fall unconscious to the floor. Merrick clenched his teeth and balled his fists while slowly looking over his left shoulder.  
  
“Don’t worry Star. We know you ain’t no coward. This worm bait doesn’t speak for any of us.” A man’s voice combined with the mumbling of others followed Merrick out into the night.  
  
    The night of July 10th, 1881, Clay Hollister had been patched up by Dr. Woods. The two sat in his study reminiscing on the old days.  
  
“How did you end up here Tobias? Last time I saw you, you just started a business in Texas.” Tobias Woods put the lemonade he was drinking down and sighed.  
  
“I poisoned a woman Clay. Didn’t mean to of course, but I was drinking and gave her the wrong pills. It was the mayor’s wife and he got a lynch mob together. You see, I had to run! Merrick found me half dead in the desert and brought me here. Seemed like a good place, so never left.” The doctor had begun sipping his lemonade again.  
  
“What is this place Tobias?” Hollister asked before sipping his own drink.  
  
“They call it Safe Haven.”  
  
“They?”  
  
“Well yeah! They, us, we are all the same. Simple outlaws, some still working or others coming here to retire. Some even reform here and go back into life to live honestly. Merrick sorta keeps everyone straight and in order.”  
  
  Hollister contemplated to himself briefly.  
  
“How worried should I be about him? Do I need to watch my back?” Unbeknownst to the men, Merrick had slipped back into the house and listened in on their conversation.  
  
“He’s smart, cunning, and wicked with a gun. He hates lawmen, never seen a man hate so much. I can’t explain why you are sitting here and not in a grave. He can be trusted though, as much as you trust me. Watch out for his dog, heard tales of it ripping lawmen apart!”  
  
“Will you help me find a way out of here Tobias?”  
  
“You leave now, you would die of blood loss.” Both men looked over to see Merrick standing in the arch way. Tobias Woods’ face became white with shock and fear.  
“Merrick...I...Clay...I mean Cyde is patched up.”  
  
“  Good. You’re coming to my place, safer there.” His blue eyes looked at each man before exiting. Hollister nodded to his friend before following the dog outside. Merrick had already grabbed the reins of both animals and was headed to a small looking shack outside of town. Hollister watched Hubrun ahead, once again holding the stick. He dug his thumbs into his belt and started off after them. He watched a young boy collect the reins and walk toward the barn. The wooden door t the shack remained open till Hollister entered and shut the door himself.  
  
   The shack on the outside was small, yet upon entering was bigger. The wooden home was built into the canyon wall giving it more room and protection. To the left, a small room contained book shelves, a desk, and a small chair. To the right, two large wooden beds and a smaller pad which already contained Hub. Toward the center was the kitchen and fireplace.  
  
  “You can take my bed, it’s comfy and that’s what you need while injured.” Merrick chuckled before collapsing on the mattress. Hollister slowly sat down while looking at Hub. The dog happily looked at the lawman, the stick still in his mouth. Drool slowly fell from his mouth as his tail wagged. Merrick looked over his shoulder and smiled before turning back to face the wall. The sheriff slowly removed his boots while still taking in the new environment.  
  
  “If Hub wanted you dead, you’d be dead. He doesn’t just go off and kill people. There is a word that sets him off.” Merrick never turned around to see if the man was paying attention.  
  
“Instead of thinking if the dog will attack you, how about thanking him. If Hub hadn’t found you, the buzzards would be feasting on your flesh right now.”  
  
“Thank you Hub.” Hollister patted the dog on the head before blowin the light out. He swore he could hear Merrick quietly chuckling.

 

Morning of July 11th, 1881.  
   Clay Hollister had woken up sore, but feeling better then he had prior to being shot. The smell of brewing coffee filled the shack causing the aroma to pull the sheriff out of bed. Hub and his master were already gone when the sheriff awoke. He found a cup sitting out for him already by the pot. The warm liquid didn’t taste as bad as Hollister thought it would. He wandered around the shack. Hanging on the walls were maps of Montana, Mexico, and other states; certain towns circle in red. A picture of two young boys; one holding a breech loader the other a single action revolver.  
  
   Hollister found himself in the study. Lining the walls were different badges from states and countries. Some were stained in blood, some were dented by bullets, while others were in mint condition. Hollister looked at the desk and recognized his badge. On a corner of the star a small blood stain.  
  
“You hungry?” The low voice cut through Hollister’s thoughts. Though surprised, the sheriff acted as if he heard the silent man walk in.  
  
“Matter of fact I am. What’s for chow?” Hollister turned to see a shirtless young man kneeling by the stove stuffing in kindling. Old bullet wounds and whipping scars littered his back. The young man stood and wiped the sweat from his brow. He turned toward Hollister, the blue eyes once again scanning the man. He walked to the saddlebags hanging on the chair and pulled out Hollister’s guns.  
  
“Just so you are aware, this is New Mexico. Meaning out of your jurisdiction!” He handed the weapons over to the sheriff. Hollister was surprised to see and feel they were still loaded.  
  
“You have the option now to uphold your oath and take a wanted man in or live a bit longer and go home.” Merrick was unarmed and crossed his sweaty arms. Hollister smiled, holstered his weapons, and sat in a chair.  
  
“As you said, I’m out of my jurisdiction.” A small smile formed on the edge of Merrick’s lips. He turned around to make breakfast, eggs and bacon.  
  
“When do I get my badge back?” Hollister questioned while he drank his coffee.  
  
“What makes you think you get it back?” Merrick replied without skipping a beat or without looking up.  
  
“Can’t put it up on your wall.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“You haven’t killed me!”  
  
“Not yet.” The tone of his voice changed causing uneasiness in Hollister. The young man brought the two plates over with biscuits and more coffee. They sat in silence for awhile before Merrick spoke.  
  
“If you had gotten the Evans gang, what would have you done to them?”  
  
    Without looking up, Hollister answered. “Brought them back to have a fair trial by judge and jury.”  
  
“So you would have brought them back alive?” Hollister looked into the blue eyes which searched for the answer amongst the opposite blue eye.  
“If you are asking if I would kill prisoners the answer is no. I never hesitate to defend myself though. My job is to uphold the law. Can’t do that if I don’t hold myself to the standard.”  
  
      Merrick laid back in the chair and crossed his arms. “Look I don’t’ know what you want from me, I swore to uphold the law and that’s what I do.” Out of frustration, Hollister pushed himself from the chair to stare down the young man. He was unfazed by the action and kept his arm crossed.  
“Let’s say I rode in to your town, a stranger. How would you respond?”  
  
    Hollister pushed back his black hair trying to understand the logic behind the questioning.  
  
“Come now lawman, sit down and answer!” Merrick motioned for the man to sit down. Hollister looked into the blue eyes and answered.  
  
“I’d walk up and ask who you were , what was your business, how long you were staying, and to check your guns.”  
  
“And if I won’t give it up?”  
  
“I’d give you a warning and explain that if you were involved with a shooting or any damage to the town, you’d spend 30 days with me.” Hollister and Merrick stared at each other.  
  
“And if you found out I was wanted?”  
  
“I’d bring you in hopefully with no gun play.” Merrick nodded and went back to drinking coffee  
.  
“What’s with all the questions?” Hollister asked bending over the table almost nose to nose with Merrick. His blue eyes flicked up to look at the sheriff.  
  
“Trying to figure out who you are.”  
  
“And who am I? Another trophy for your wall?” Merrick stood up quickly, his arms remaining crossed.  
  
“I don’t know yet.” He stated as he grabbed the plates and scraped the remains into Hub’s bowl on the ground and motioned for Hollister to follow into the study.  
  
“Do you see that one?” Merrick pointed to a rusted sheriff’s badge. “The lawman wearing it was taking advantage of widows.” He walked to a blood stained Marshals’ badge.

“This one shot me in the back, no warning. Thought he killed me. Ended up putting two in the chest and one in his head.” He turned around again and pointed to a sheriff’s badge and four deputies’ badges.  
  
“They were finding legal ways to steal and murder.” Hollister looked at Merrick whose eyes lit up as his memories flooded into his mind.  
  
“All these shootings, where id they occur?” Hollister questioned.  
  
“Montana, Texas, Mexico. Don’t worry, none in Arizona yet.” He turned to Hollister. “You seem smart enough to figure out what all the lawmen have in connection.”  
  
“Yes, but you can’t take the law into your hands!” Hollister pleaded.  
  
“There is no law when the ones sworn to uphold it throw it aside or deem themselves superior!” Merrick stood toe to toe with the sheriff.  
  
“Do you consider yourself Robin Hood then?” Merrick broke eye contact to stifle a laugh.  
  
“I’m the farthest thing from Robin Hood. I’m an outlaw plain as day, but with a unique moral balance. Everyone gets punished for their crimes, just depends on how it’s delivered. You’ve seen my scars, punishment for my crimes.”  
  
   Just then the front door opened and Hub came barreling through. The young boy from last night came running in after him. He began wrestling with the dog on the ground. They both paused when noticing the two men staring. Hub let go of the boy’s overalls and quickly sat up looking innocent. The boy stood up, grabbed his hat, and brushed himself off.  
  
“Morning Mr. Star.” He mumbled.  
  
“Morning Barry. Which game you playin today?  
  
“Outlaw. I was the outlaw and Hub was the sheriff.” The dog looked at Barry and sneezed. He stood up and pushed the boy over with a single nudge.  
  
“Hub says you were the sheriff.” Laughed Merrick.  
  
“Well maybe I was, but don’t tell no one. I’d get tarred and feathered if I even pretended to be a lawman.”  
  
“And why’s that?” Hollister asked while squatting down to pet Hub.  
  
“Cause lawmen aren’t welcomed here mister. I hold no grudge against ‘em, but others here do.”  
  
“What makes you indifferent to lawmen?” Hollister questioned. Barry looked at Merrick who nodded encouragement to continue.  
  
“My pa was killed by a sheriff, but my pa did wrong so it’s okay.”  
  
“What did he do?”  
  
“He beat ma a lot even when he wasn’t drinking. He hit me a couple of times, but ma always pulled him off so I could get away. Mr. Star says when the sheriff confronted him one night after he was drinking, the sheriff shot in him in self defense. Pa drew first! He wasn’t going to let anyone tell him what he could and couldn’t do.” Barry looked out the door as if he was pondering the story. “Mr. Star brought ma and me here. No one touches her now.” As if a thought exploded in his head, Barry jumped suddenly.  
“Mr. Star! I was supposed to tell you Clusky is back.”  
  
“Alright Barry, tell him I’m coming.” The young boy ran off with Hub nipping at his heels. Merrick grabbed his gun belt.  
  
“Is his story true? You didn’t kill his father?”  
  
    Merrick averted the sheriff’s eyes. “No, the sheriff did. He didn’t like how a woman was being beaten up.” He grabbed his hat and motioned for Hollister to do the same.  
“We are headed for the Dancing Queen, do you remember your name?”  
  
“Clyde Sterling of Montana. Horse theft.”  
  
“Good. If you get recognized let me know, I’ll handle it.” They both started off toward the saloon. Men stared at the newcomer, sizing him up. Hollister was relieved his guns were returned into their holsters.  
  
     For a Thursday morning, the Dancing Queen was nearly packed. The news of the famed Tin Star’s return brought outlaws from their homes to view the legend. The two men walked through the doors as an all female show began. Men were hollering and hooting as the women started dancing.  
Old man Clusky sat at his table grinning as a Merrick and Hollister approached.  
  
   “You should have seen their faces Star. There I was, riding for your paper when the stage comes a rolling toward me.” He was using his arms and hands as props causing both men to hide their faces to control their laughter.  
   

    “I shot in the air, just once though, explaining to them that this was a holdup. And guess what! They stopped! They stopped for Old Man Clusky! So I asked them in a real tough voice, ‘does anyone have a newspaper’? This well dressed man had one, so I took it! Then, I took a lady’s hat and gave it to Ms. Anne there.” He pointed to the center woman who winked back at him. Hollister slid his hand over his mouth to hide the smile, Merrick followed suit.  
  
    “Here’s your paper Star! Now let me get back to my show!” The old man threw his hat in the air as the ladies strutted around. Merrick read the paper, his eyebrows scrunching together the further down he read. Hollister slowly looked over his shoulder to see that he was reading the Tombstone Epitaph; the headline reading:

   “Sheriff Clay Hollister Feared Dead as Search Continues.” The show ended with everyone cheering, but Hollister looked down into his hands.  
  
  
“Hey stranger, you alright?” Clusky passed him the half empty bottle and a clean glass.  
  
“Oh yea, my back, you know, it sorta hurts.”  
  
“How’d ya get it?” Asked another man who randomly sat at the table. Merrick had moved from beside the sheriff to the bar, the newspaper still in his hands.  
  
“I was rustlin some horses and the ranch hands got me first!”  
  
“Did you get any of them?” Asked another man. Hollister looked to see he had gathered a crowd. Whether they were interested in his story or just him, it didn’t really bother him.  
  
“Oh yea, three at least!” The men smiled and nodded already accepting the stranger as his own.  
  
“How’d ya meet up with Star?” The group of men became quiet as they all wanted to hear the answer.  
  
“He and I rode with each other back in Montana. Wasn’t hard to find him down here if you know his habits. The crowd stood in awe and fascination that the Tin Star had a least somewhere in the past had a crew of some sorts.  
  
“Hey stranger, what’s your name?” Hollister had been expecting the question for some time now  
.  
“Clyde Sterling gentlemen!” They chuckled by the fact he called them ‘gentlemen’.  
  
   “You’re lying mister.” A pin hitting the wooden floor could have echoed in the saloon as the entire building went quiet. The group of men dispersed as a young man strutted over and pushed the table over causing Hollister to fall backwards hard against the floor. His hands instinctively grabbed his grips, but the boot on his chest and the barrel in his face warned him against any further action.  
  
   “Remember me? You gonna die now cl…” The fist connected into the man’s face causing blood to squirt from his nose. Merrick stood beside Hollister, fists raised glaring at the assailant. He motioned for a couple of the men to assist the sheriff to his feet. He grimaced as the pain in his back shot through his body. The gunman holstered his weapon and put his hands to his face. He pointed his bloody finger at Merrick.  
  
“You know who this is Star?” His anger began to show as his body shook.  
  
“I do.” He replied while continuing to stare at the gunman. His thumbs hooked into his gun belt as his breathing steadied out.  
  
“Then why is he here?” The gunman’s voice cracked as rage filled him.  
  
“He was injured and needed help. No need to worry he’ll be gone soon enough. Calm yourself down before trouble befalls you.” Hollister noted how calm and steady the voice remained.  
  
“No! It’s not right! You can lie to these men, but not to me! This man is a…”  
  
“He’ is Clyde Sterling. A poor example of a man, but he is my friend regardless and under my protection. Now you want to back that statement of calling me a liar or go back breathing the stale air of this saloon?” The gunman stared at Merrick for sometime, his body shaking with rage.  
  
“You letting him stay here?”  
  
“I answered that already, but since you seem to dumb to listen my answer was yes.”  
  
“Then you are a cheat, a liar and a no good…” The bullet smashed into his forehead instantly killing the gunslinger. Hollister didn’t even see Merrick draw his weapon, but noted this man was fast. Merrick looked around the room at the men who either made eye contact or looked at the ground.  
  
“Anyone else here willing to fight for this man’s claims? Want to call me a liar or attack my friend?” With no response, Merrick holstered his weapon.  
  
“Joe, get this piece of trash out of here. Find out if he was wanted and collect the reward. If not, let him rot and the buzzards take their meal. You two, take Clyde to Dr. Woods. Let him assess the wound.” As Hollister was helped past Merrick, they made eye contact. Once again Merrick had saved his life and he was sure he would not forget it.  
Joe and the two men returned from their tasks as Merrick instructed the saloon men to sit. He leaned against the bar and sipped his beer.  
  
“The only condition to staying here is not to bring the law on us correct?” Everyone chimed in agreement.  
  
“Look, I don’t care if you feel the urge to rob a bank, steal cattle. Hell, I’ve killed people just cause they insulted me.” The men laughed. Merrick took another sip of beer before continuing.  
  
“But hurting the innocent, the women or children, I don’t hold to that.”  
  
“We’d never hurt no women or children Star, you know that!” Shouted a man.  
  
“That’s cause you all have principles.” In his hand he held the newspaper up for the crowd to see. “I have an article claiming the Evans gang ran down a child after robbing the Tombstone bank. They may have even killed the sheriff. I first heard this story from a miner as I rode this way and sent Clusky out to confirm it.”  
  
“How old was the child?” Joe asked while cleaning a glass.  
  
“Twelve! A young lad who was out playing marbles and was probably sneaking home before being discovered. His parents are now burying their only child wondering if they will ever get justice. Now, with everyone in agreement, I want full authority to handle this gang in my own way.”  
  
  Clusky stood up, slamming his glass on the table. “Hell Star, keep ‘em out permanently! We don’t need that kind of trash here in Safe Haven!” All the men stood up yelling in agreement. Merrick smiled and settled them down.  
  
“Here’s how it is then, I am going back to my place to get some much needed rest. I need to know when they arrive. Until then, drinks on me boys!” The place erupted in cheers as Joe began getting swamped.  
  
    Merrick angrily walked out of the Dancing Queen. He pulled out his revolver and loaded another round. He stood with his hands on his hips and bit his bottom lip as he contemplated the shooting and his next move. The noon sun shone down upon Merrick as he finished saddling both horses. The mule grunted as Hub jumped on his back and laid down. The pair rode slowly toward the white house where Hollister had just opened the door. The doctor stood in the doorway smiling and waving.  
“He good for a short ride doc?”  
  
“I suppose, but nothing to harsh. His back isn’t completely healed up yet.”  
  
    He threw the reins to Hollister. “Get on!”  
  
      The pair spurred their animals forward minus the mule who continued walking with Hub on it’s back. Hollister watched as the mule occasionally attempted to bite the dog which cause the canine to bear his teeth and snarl. He chuckled to himself and followed the young man up the canyon path.  
   

     It was a beautiful ride to the top of the canyon. Merrick sat on his horse, his forearm resting on the horn and looked out over the land. For miles straight beauty; mountains which gave way to red clay valleys, flowing streams with lush green bushes at the bank. In the distance, outlines of a small town. Father away, smoke from the passing train heading west. Both men stared, each lost in his own thoughts.  
  
“Tomorrow I am escorting you back to Tombstone. It’s too dangerous for you to be here.” Hollister looked at Merrick who was still staring over the canyon.  
  
“You were right about yourself, a straight outlaw. You murdered a man in front of me, I won’t be able to forget that.”  
  
“I don’t expect you would. He knew you lawman and he was going to kill you. If it was a fair fight I would have let you die, nothing was fair about that fight. He had an advantage when he kicked you to the floor.” Merrick sighed and pushed his hat back. Hollister gripped the horn and readjusted his seat.  
  
“How old are you boy?” Merrick slowly turned his head to stare at the man before staring back to look at the beauty.  
  
“Twenty-five, but my body would tell you I am sixty.” They both chuckled, for they understood that the paths they chose aged men faster. Hollister pressed his luck further.  
  
“Who is Clyde Sterling? I’m guessing he is not just a random named you created.” Hollister would have sworn on a bible that he saw a tear fall from the young man’s face.  
  
   “Clyde Sterling was, as I said, a man from Montana. He left his wife and stole his two sons to the wild, untamed part of Montana. He taught them how to survive and to depend on each other. When they failed a task, he beat them senseless. He stole horses and sold them up North, got away with it for almost a decade. Then his luck ran out the day a lawman came by Sterling’s cabin and told his sons their father had been killed for rustling. He made the boys identify the body, in hopes maybe, to scare them out of the life of crime. Can you imagine a thirteen and fifteen year old going to confirm a bullet ridden body as their father? There was no face left on him, a shotgun took care of that.” Merrick clenched his fists. “Those law abiding people cheated me. It was my obligation to kill him, me! It was the job I promised to my brother, I swore to him I would.” Merrick noticed how agitated he became and proceeded to calm himself.

  
    “He beat my brother so hard one day that my brother never recovered; he was never the same person after that. The lawman shipped us back to our mother, how he found her is still a mystery today. We dropped our father’s name then and became the Merrick and Matthew Young. She attempted to make us church goers, but that never stopped the wild from growing in us. She tried everything she could, I regret the way I spoke to her sometimes. I never could stand the fancy clothes, judgemental eyes, or the lying citizens. They said we were wanted, but the way they carried on about my brother was the worst part. Like I said earlier, Matthew wasn’t right in the head and he knew it. He spoke with a stutter and thought a little slower than before. He took a lot of lip from people and many fists from the local boys, especially the deputies. In 1874, Matthew Young drowned himself, he was twenty years old. Four months later, my mother was taken by a smallpox outbreak. She was the cage, the only person that kept the outlaw growing inside me hidden. I buried her by my brother, it’s what she wanted. I killed the deputies the same day, my first badges. It was the fairest fight I have had to date.  
You were given my father’s name, Clyde Sterling, in hopes of giving it some respect. To redeem the bad qualities, maybe right some of his wrongs.” Hollister sat in silence knowing that the story he just heard was probably never told prior to this moment.

  
  “In case you were wondering, Matthew was the eldest and I as the youngest.” He paused before wiping sweat from this face.  
  
“I need you to forget this place lawman. If you try to come back more than likely you will be shot and killed. This place doesn’t have all bad men, we have a code. A lot of men here actually go straight and live honestly.” He turned to face the sheriff. “I need you to trust me the next few hours as I will trust you this story never reaches any newspaper or ears.”  
  
“You got my word.” Hollister responded.  
  
They began back down the trail; the mule leading the way with Hub panting on its’ back.

 

Evening of July 11th, 1881  
    Sheriff Clay Hollister was sitting in a quiet saloon listening to the banter around him. A young man ran by the doors whistling a low tune. The cheery atmosphere shifted to holstile instantaneously, Hollister could feel it. He looked around to see men pushing their hats lower over their eyes, sitting straighter, and adjusting their weapons. He heard the men outside before they entered the Dancing Queen.  
  
“Joe! Two bottles of your finest whiskey! Drinks for everyone!” Some cheered for the free liquor while others glared at the six men entering the saloon.  
  
“You won’t believe the jobs we pulled Joe. Even got myself a sheriff!” Hollister tapped his glass angrily knowing he needed to keep his mouth shut. The chatter from the men briefly stopped as the Tin Star entered the building.  
  
“Please, continue your story Cole. I’m interested!” He sarcastically stated while he leaned against the bar. He smirked as the young man was oblivious to the sarcasm. Cole Evans took a drink of whiskey before continuing.  
  
“This loser sheriff though he could trail us, but he was wrong. Three days and all he got for his troubles was a bullet. You should have been there, the best showdown history will never know about.”  
  
“Where’s your badge?” Cole stopped his story and stared at Merrick.  
  
“W...what do you mean?”  
  
“If you killed this sheriff, where’s your proof?” Cole looked at Jesse who shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.  
  
“Are you calling me a liar?” Cole asked his hand sliding to his gun.  
  
“I would never do a foolish thing as that, just wanted to know which sheriff I didn’t have to kill!” The tension broke as the men laughed in unison.  
  
“I didn’t want to copy your tactics, so I didn’t take it.” Cole replied.  
  
Merrick nodded before asking again. “So who was it?”  
  
“Tombstone sheriff.”  
  
“Tombstone? That small, pathetic town Northwest of here? That doesn’t sound like a famous place.”  
  
Jesse coughed up the beer he was drinking. “Is that a famous place!”  
  
Jack joined in. “Tombstone is the town too tough to die!”  
  
“Sheriff wasn’t!” Laughed Cole. His gang responded by going in the laughter. Hollister gripped his glass tighter and smashed his lips together to hold his tongue.  
  
“Now I’m invested truly. How about you boys show us where this epic battle of guns took place!”  
  
“Us?” Cole raised an eyebrow and looked around. Merrick nodded toward Hollister who slowly looked up at the group.  
  
“My buddy from Montana wants to see the area. Scoop out new targets for rustling.” Cole stood staring at Hollister, his eyes narrowing.  
  
“You look familiar, have we met before?”  
  
“Not unless you have been to Montana country.” Hollister stated while he pushed himself from the chair. He stuck his hand out. “Name is Sterling, Clyde Sterling.” Cole slowly extended his hand and shook the man’s.  
  
“I’m Cole Evans, this rugged mut is my brother Jack. Beside him my other brothers Pete and Travis. That ugly bastard is Jesse, my cousin, and behind the bar there is our friend Thomas.” All the men stared back not smiling at the newcomer. Merrick cut back into the conversation.  
  
“So tomorrow morning around eight sound good?” Cole turned around to his gang and smiled before laughing.  
  
“Alright boys, the Tin Star wants to ride with us! We had planned on a stage job, but we can postpone that!” Cole leaned closer to Merrick to whisper in his ear.  
“You threaten my brother again, we’ll have some lead discussions about it!” Instinctively Merrick grabbed Cole’s arms. They stared at each other like two alpha males ready to attack.  
  
   “Should I watch my back?” He whispered back. Cole’s head snapped back in surprise. He pulled his arms out of Merrick’s grasp and turned back to the bar. Merrick walked backward out of the Dancing Queen, Hollister following suit. They began back toward the shack while Hub bounded after them from the barn.  
“I’ll be back later.” He split from Hollister with Hub at his heels. The pair walked down to a lower part of the box canyon. Hollister watched the pair disappear before hooking his thumb into the belt loop and walking to the shack.  
  
     Hollister walked into the study with a coffee cup in his hands; he sat down in the wooden chair to take in the room. He studied the badges, then the desk, and then the book shelves. Stuck between two books a small photo was protruding from its’ hiding spot. The photo revealed a young Merrick laughing and holding a puppy which resembled Hub. On the back of the photo a handwritten note: “Hope ya enjoy the pup! Always love ya little brother”-Matthew 1874. The events from the past few days caused a disturbance within him as he began to grapple with his sense of duty to uphold the law. He placed the photo back in its’ hiding spot. The barely noticeable pain in his back made itself known briefly as he leaned back. He looked at the desk again to find his badge missing. His eyes scanned the walls, but to no avail; it was not anywhere in the room.  
He walked out of the room checking his pistols out of habit. Standing in the open front door was Barry holding a book.  
  
“Hello Barry!” The young boy looked up with a melancholy expression. “What kind of book you have there?” The boy shrugged and walked back toward the study. He turned toward Hollister as he put the book on the chair.  
  
“How old were you when you ran away from home?” The question caught Hollister off guard. He knelt down and held the boy by his shoulders.  
  
“What makes you want to leave?” Barry looked away.  
  
“I want to be like them.” He stated while pointing to the badges. “I want to wear the badge and protect people.”  
  
   Hollister smiled and pushed his black hat back while sighing.  
“One day, I promise, when the time is right, you will find the strength to wear the badge. I can see you have all the good qualities to be a sheriff.” Barry smiled and hugged the older man.  
  
“I can see why you and Mr. Star are friends. He encourages me to be a lawman too!” The young boy ran out of the house. Hollister reached out and picked up the book, curious of what the child was reading; it was Oliver Twist.  
  
   The moon and stars were shining by the time Hub and Merrick returned. The dog directly went to Hollister and sat down. He turned around and growled until the petting began. Merrick grabbed a glass of water and collapsed on the bunk.  
  
“What kind of dog is Hub?” Asked Hollister as he played with the delighted dog’s ears.  
  
“Plott hound, native to North Carolina for hunting big game.” Hollister nodded that he heard the man. Hub turned around and grabbed the man’s hand with his mouth. The dog didn’t apply pressure just held it looking sadly into the man’s blue eyes. Merrick swung his legs off the bunk and placed the glass on the table.  
  
“Hub, leave him be. The man leaves tomorrow. He needs to go home.” The dog mournfully looked at Hollister and released his hand. He placed his head on the bed and sighed.  
“How did he find me?”  
  
“You notice how he doesn’t bark? That’s cause I trained him to only do so if he finds something or someone approaches. Hub was out hunting when he wouldn’t stop frantically barking. That’s how I found you.”  
  
“Then why didn’t you take the badge and let me die?” Merrick swung back on the bed, Hub joining him by his feet stretching out on his back.  
  
“Hub has never liked a lawman before. He wanted to see you pull through.” Hollister shook his head and curled up facing the wall.  
  
“I feel any man shot in the back deserves to get his day to face the one who done it.” The candle was blown out. Hollister lay thinking about the events that were to come about the next day. His eyebrows narrowed as snoring began to echo in the shack.  
  
“Shut up Hub!” Mumbled Merrick.

 

Friday Morning of July 12th 1881,  
    Sheriff Clay Hollister said his goodbyes to the town of Safe Haven. The Evans gang, Merrick, and the sheriff along with Hub set out toward the spot of the ambush. It was midday as the crew reached the landing.  
  
“There ya go!” Cole pointed to the valley floor.  
  
“You shot him down there?” Asked Merrick.  
  
“Of course he did, I was a witness!” Spat Jesse. Merrick turned to Hollister.  
  
“What do you think Clyde?”  
  
“No body, no shooting!” He nonchalantly replied. Cole began drawing his weapon. Jesse grabbed his hand and shook his head.  
  
“You said you were going after a stage? I can do you better!” Merrick stated proudly.  
  
Cole suspiciously looked at Merrick. “I was told the Tin Star worked alone!”  
  
Merrick shrugged. “ I do, but wanted to see how good your gang is.”  
  
“What’s the job?” Jesse asked.  
  
“There’s a town on the other side of Shadow Pass. Sheriff says his town is unrobbable. Bank doors wide open, ten thousand dollars at least.”  
  
“Did you say Shadow Pass?” Travis spoke up for the first time causing all the head to turn in his direction. He stared back at the group shaking his head.  
“I ain’t going in there! No one has been able to make it through that maze.”

  Merrick smiled. “I found a way through. You boys up for it?” Cole looked at Travis who submitted to the leader and looked down.  
  
“Let’s go!” Cole spat.  
  
Merrick nodded and swung around on the saddle. He pointed back to Hub and yelled. “Around!” The dog put his head down and slowly walked away. Jack began laughing.  
  
“Scared I might have shot him in those caves mistaking him as a cougar?”  
  
   Merrick ignored the man and watched his dog walk out of sight before whistling a two-toned pitch. He sat back in the saddle without looking at anyone and set off toward the cave entrance.  
  
“What’s Shadow Pass?” Hollister whispered to Merrick.  
  
“Old train tunnels that never came to be. Very dangerous, many deaths, stay close.”  
  
   The group approached the tunnel entrance. A wood sign bearing the worn out words of keep out was nailed to the top.  
  
“Remember Cole, without me you will get lost and never find your way out!”  
  
    “Lead the way Star.” Snarled Cole. Sliding from his horse, Merrick picked up a torch, lit it, grabbed his reins and started into the darkness. He stopped occasionally to bring the torch toward the cave wall as if he was searching for a marker. Minutes felt like hours as the men slowly made their way through the maze of the tunnels. Bats, startled by the sudden light, occasionally swooped down and scared the horses. Water droplets dripped from the tunnel ceiling creating puddles around the path’s edge.  
Finally, the group began to see light.  
  
“There it is!” Cried Travis. As they neared the light, Merrick put the torch out. He pushed away the brush and debris from the entrance allowing the crew out. Everyone squinted as they adjusted their eyes to the natural light.  
  
“We walked for at least a good three hours!” Sighed Jesse as he basked in the sunlight.  
  
“Where’s the town Star?” Cole asked as he looked around rubbing his eyes. Merrick pointed to some boulders on the hill.  
  
“Just beyond the boulders on that hill. You’ll see the town!” The Evans gang jumped on their horses and started for the hill. Merrick hung back with Hollister; he was fiddling with his pocket. He checked his gun before swinging up on his horse.  
  
“You really letting them rob a bank?” Hollister hissed.  
  
   Merrick turned and threw a tin object at Hollister.  
  
“Are you?” He replied before spurring his horse toward the hill. Hollister looked into his hands and smiled. Slowly he slid the piece of tin onto his shirt and spurred his horse forward.  
  
    Cole rode off the hill at a quick pace toward Merrick.  
  
“You think this is a joke? That’s Tombstone over there!” The smug look of Merrick annoyed Cole Evans.  
  
“Is it now? My mistake.”  
  
“What’s your play Star? It’s six against one!” Cole narrowed his eyebrows, his hands falling to his gun belt.  
  
 “Did you really think we wouldn’t find out? There is one code we live by at Safe Haven boy and you broke it! Killing a kid didn’t sit well with the boys back home, you’re lucky you made it out alive.” Jesse, Travis, Pete, and Thomas had now ridden up beside Cole.  
  
“Back shooting is another thing I don’t stomach either. I know you done it Cole, that poor shooting wouldn’t have killed a fly. Guess you’re not as good as a shot as your cousin tells you.” The confused look turned to anger as Cole realized who was riding toward him. The sheriff’s badge glistening in the sunset rays.  
  
“Alright everyone, let’s do this the easy way. Drop your belts nice and easy.” Cole sat back smiling.  
  
“The great Tin Star siding with the law.”  
  
“I’m not on anyone’s side. That mother and father will not be cheated out of watching you hang.”Merrick spat back. Cole looked at the sheriff whose gun was already out of his holster.  
  
“I should have gone down to check on you lawman!”  
  
“Yeah, you should have. That was your second mistake. Your first was thinking you could have gotten away with murder and theft in my territory. I promise you a fair trial, now put the gun down.”  
  
“I think not! My brother hiding in the rocks will get you first!” Laughed Cole.  
  
“Will he now?” Smiled Merrick.  
  
     Jack pressed himself against the rock. He sighted his rifle on Merrick, his finger sliding to the trigger. Beside him a low growl emerged, starting soft then becoming louder. Jack’s eyes slowly slid from their target and toward the noise. The white teeth were bared, drool slid from the sides of the mouth. All the brown/black fur stood straight up down the center of his back. Hub’s eyes lay fixed upon Jack Evans.  
  
“Well come on you dang dog!” He yelled as Hub jumped on the man. He blocked the bite to his face with his forearm. From the man a blood curdling scream; claws and teeth ripped into his flesh.  
  
    Cole looked back as the scream echoed of the rocks. It was Jesse who drew first, causing Hollister to fire a round into the man’s shoulder. Thomas and Pete took off for the shelter of the boulders. Merrick grabbed his rifle sending two rounds into the chest of Travis who was about to fire his weapon at Hollister. Cole was already hidden behind the cover of trees sending wild shoots in the direction of Merrick and Hollister. Sheriff Clay Hollister found safety behind some boulders and engaged Cole while Merrick rode after the fleeing brothers. Thomas lined his sights and fired sending Merrick to the ground clutching his side. He moved forward to finish the job, but instead received a bullet for his troubles.  
  
“Come on out Hollister! Let’s just shoot it out!” Yelled Cole.  
  
“So you can shoot me in the back again?” He replied.  
  
“That was a small misunderstanding sheriff. Look, my gun is holstered!” Cole Evans stepped from behind the tree, hands raised. Sheriff Hollister hesitated before returning his pistol and stepped out. The two men stood waiting for the other to draw. A shot from the hill spooked Cole, he grabbed at leather, but was to slow. Hollister had been quicker sending the fatal bullet into the chest of his enemy. He ran up and disarmed the dead man. Jesse Bailer was reaching for his side arm when Hollister appeared and kicked it away.  
  
“Alright Jesse, stand up.” The man held pressure on his shoulder, looking back every once and awhile at the sheriff. Pete Evans appeared his hands above his head followed by and injured Merrick carrying a rifle.  
  
“Restrained yourself from killing all of them?” Chuckled Hollister. Before answering a pistol shot rang out. Both men turned to see Jack Evans stumbling from the boulders. His arms were torn and bloody as well as his chest.  
  
“Merrick!” Hollisters’ words fell upon deaf ears. Unable to restrain his prisoners and contain the other outlaw, sheriff Hollister was forced to watch.  
  
“Where is he?” Yelled Merrick as he racked a round in the chamber. Jack looked up smiling and shaking blood from his hands.  
  
“You’re mut? Probably dying in his own blood like you will soon!” He went to draw his pistol, but realized to late that he left the pistol by the dog. He looked up to see the rifle being unloaded into his chest. After it was empty, Merrick drew his revolver and walked up to the dying man.  
  
“This is for Hub!” Jack’s eyes widened while he choked on blood. The bullet entered the man’s skull sending bone fragments flying. Merrick stood up wiping the blood from his face, looked at Hollister, then ran toward the boulder.  
  
    He lay in bright red blood whining. Merrick holstered his weapon and looked at the bullet hole. The .45 caliber smashed into the dog’s right shoulder, shattering the bone.  
  
“Good boy Hub, good boy!” The dog looked at its’ master and began wagging his tail knowing he had done well.  
  
     Hollister had bound both his prisoners with rawhide strips. He looked toward the hill to see Merrick carrying his dog. He had tied his red bandana around the wound and placed his dog on the horse. Hollister saw the anger in the man’s blue eyes. He stomped toward Pete, drawing his weapon. The sheriff stepped in front of the prisoner, protecting him.  
  
“Get out of the way lawman!” Merrick yelled clutching his side where the bullet entered.  
  
“Can’t let you kill another unarmed man.” Hollister replied. Merrick grappled with himself, contemplating if killing sheriff was worth it. He angrily yelled and holstered his weapon.  
  
“Pete Evans, if I ever hear of you again,I’ll find you and cut you into pieces!” He turned to leave.  
  
“Merrick, I am taking you in.” Hollister crossed his arms and watched as Merrick slowly turn back toward him. The anger was gone, replaced with smug confidence.  
  
“On what charges?” He asked, while he too folded his arms across his chest.  
  
“Murder, killing Jack Evans. He was unarmed.” Hollister’s lips smashed together as he watched the outlaw again contemplate his new situation.  
  
“If you feel it’s your duty, take me in lawman!” The two men stood still, their arms crossed. The prisoners watched in suspense as Hollister’s hand grabbed the pistol grip. It was half way out when Merrick pulled his revolver. Hollister clenched his teeth waiting for the outlaw’s bullet.  
  
“Drop your guns lawman!” Merrick stated in a low voice. Hollister did as he was told, his eyes narrowing. Merrick stepped back until he hit his horse. Keeping the gun pointed at Hollister, he swung up. Slowly his horse walked toward the sheriff, gun still pointed in his direction.  
  
“Don’t try and follow me lawman. You might get lost!” Merrick broke into a laugh and holstered his weapon.  
  
“Looks like the Tin Star will be famous in Arizona now. Goodbye lawman!” He started forward before turning around again. “Remember fair trial or I’ll be back to finish what I started!”  
  
    He waved good-bye and rode off with his injured friend. Hollister smiled, grabbed his guns and swung upon his animal.  
  
“Alright boys, let’s go to Tombstone!” Hollister took hold of the reins and started off, prisoners in tow.

 

July 13th, 1881  
     It was shock in awe to see Sheriff Clay Hollister riding up the streets of Tombstone with member of the Evans gang. Deputy Charlie was proud to relinquish his spot as sheriff. The townspeople all welcomed back their presumed dead sheriff. The town went back to the way it was before, except for the awaiting trial of the outlaws.  
  
“You’re right Clay, I don’t believe that story.” Editor Harris Claibourne of the Tombstone Epitaph remarked throwing his pencil on his desk. Sheriff Clay Hollister sat, with his black hat in his hands, on the banister.  
  
“Sheriff! Sheriff!” The screams of the frantic livery man filled the air. Clay Hollister ran up to the man.  
  
“What is it Harry?”  
  
“Some old coot stole that horse you rode up on and left this bag and note!” Hollister opened the bag and saw five thousand dollars. He smiled as he read the note: “Clusky isn’t worth it!`Merrick Young.  
  
“Get the bag to the bank.” Hollister ordered. The sheriff started back to his office, leaving the townspeople confused in the street. Harris followed him.  
  
“You going after the horse thief?”  
  
“Nope.” Hollister sat in his chair sighing. He placed the note on the desk. The editor picked the note up and read it.  
  
“Alright let’s start over from the top!”  
  
“Harris, do you always pester people for a news story?”  
  
“Only you!” Both men laughed as the townspeople dispersed from the streets.


End file.
